Left 4 Dead 2: Stop and Stare
by hidden-in-a-tree
Summary: To think I might not see those eyes makes it so hard not to cry, and as we say our … goodbyes, I nearly do. Tragedy/Angst.  Nick/Ellis.  Slash.


**Author's Note: **I ain't sayin' this is a oneshot, and I ain't sayin' it ain't a oneshot. The sentence used in the summary is from the song Run by Snow Patrol, and the title of the story is from the song Stop and Stare by OneRepublic. Very beautiful.

Tragedy/Angst. Nick/Ellis. Slash.

**Disclaimer:** God, I wish I owned Nick and Ellis, but I don't.

**Acknowledgements: **Thanks to Sean for reading this, although I'm fairly sure he just glanced over this one. =/ Humph, I say!

**Summary:** To think I might not see those eyes makes it so hard not to cry, and as we say our … goodbyes, I nearly do.

**Stop and Stare**

It had come to this, both of them standing in an alley with two ways out and hundreds of infected pursuing them relentlessly. Shrieks and yowls reverberated in the worn brick alley, invading their ears perversely. This was it. Goodbye. There would be no tomorrow where Nick would wake up and the world would be back to normal – or what had become monotonous and mundane nowadays: living day-by-day, never knowing if he would make it to the next safe house, wondering if today would be the day where he finally 'fessed up, told himself that there was no time to lose and acted on the initiative. The seconds of agonizing over whether to speak up would cease; the instances of Nick saying Ellis' name aloud and the younger man asking 'what', only to be met with a sigh and a 'never mind' on Nick's part would no longer occur.

Nick stood, his assault rifle hanging limply from his right hand. All he could do was stare. He drank in the sight of Ellis; he knew what would happen as soon as he turned away. Somewhere deep within his mind, he begged his memory to never let him forget the sight of Ellis right now: those beautiful azure eyes with the flecks of grey and slight green embedded in the smoothness of bright blue. Those perfect eyelashes, a little bit too long; those wonderful eyelids that expressed drowsiness; those expressive eyebrows that showed amusement, derision, sarcasm. His long, straight nose; his wide mouth; his pointed chin. All those characteristics – some would call flaws – were perfect to Nick, irreplaceable. The younger man's slender shoulders, his tiny waist, his muscular thighs. Details. Data. Millions of pictures that Nick had taken with his inner eye swirled around his mind; the way Ellis' eyes crinkled up when he smiled; his crooked grin; his calloused and time-toughened hands.

_Please don't let me forget._

All those stupid, trivial bits of info that they'd shared while being together for the past three weeks resurfaced, and Nick could hear Ellis telling him that his favorite color was red, that he loved The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn and _How I Met Your Mother_, that he hated being late more than anything else. Why was it that those insignificant moments in one's life come back to haunt a person?

Ellis gazed back, just as hungrily. Tears were pooling up around his lower eyelids. His lips trembled, a searing pain careened through his heart. He felt as if someone had just stabbed him in the stomach; he wanted to double over in pain, scream in agony, sob miserably, but he didn't. There was no time for that. If he survived – a big if – then there would be time for that later: nights without Nick sitting beside him in some God awful safe house, days where he would have to wander aimlessly in a life devoid of the one source of joy in dark times. Living through a Goddamn zombie apocalypse 'n' shit had always been a dream of Ellis', but now – now he wished it had never come to this. He'd never imagined that someone could become his reason for living in such a short period of time. What would be the point in going on since he knew he wouldn't wake up to Nick's smile?

Ellis was terrified of not being able to remember the way Nick's right eyebrow cocked up when he said something witty, the way he smiled when making a joke, the way his voice growled when he was pissed off. He wanted to recall that Nick was right handed, that he hated white chocolate, that he loved the _Phantom of the Opera_, and that he was a secret Malfoy/Harry shipper.

The inconsequential facts were all Ellis had. They'd never discussed anything else. Not their families, not their upbringings. Not their friends, or their hopes and dreams, not their fears. Just the fucking stupid things that should be forgotten.

Both men knew they were wasting what little time they had left. Death was closing in on them but all they could do was remain frozen. They knew that they'd wasted moments of silence that could've been filled with secret thoughts and feelings. They knew that there would be no going back.

Those three words that neither of them could utter. It was a feeling that the English language fell short of when trying to describe. The uncertainty of not knowing what the other felt was a physical ache for both men, one they couldn't push away and couldn't understand completely.

The screams were getting louder, closer. It was time.

Ellis saw that Nick meant to leave, and he felt as if a blow had struck him within his chest, right on the outer walls of his heart. The organ was caving in, shattering, being blown apart. He struggled for breath, tried to control himself. His whole body shook violently.

Nick desperately wanted to comfort the younger man. Ellis was exhibiting every emotion that Nick felt. If he had a soul, he knew it was being torn in two: one half would go with the younger man, wherever Ellis went, and the other would reside within his body. Nick would never be whole again. Before he met Ellis, he didn't even know how broken he was. He'd tried to find happiness in cheap women and lived for the high that chased tirelessly after every game of Black Jack. No matter what he'd done, he'd been empty.

He took a step closer to Ellis. He wanted to put his arms around the younger man's shoulders and hold him tightly. He wanted to push his lips up against Ellis' and have one last taste of happiness before the end. Something desperate, something that apologized for all those times where he could've said something but didn't. Instead, he reached out and gently gripped the back of Ellis' neck and brought both of them forehead to forehead.

Neither could do anything except breathe. Breathe in a scent they knew they'd never experience again. The scent that would forever haunt them, forever remind them of pain, death, dark safe houses, and silence. They would be tormented by it later on; sometimes they would get glimpses of the other's smell, and like a perfume trail they would tear after it, their hearts beating furiously only to be rewarded with a stranger.

"If ever you're in Savannah after all this is over," Nick quickly whispered, his voice rough.

"I'll be there," Ellis replied gruffly, his eyes clamped shut, unwilling to open them and see the intense anguish in the older man's eyes. Ellis could hear it in his voice. He didn't know if he could withstand seeing the strongest man he'd ever known break down.

Nick knew that Ellis wouldn't be the one to make the first move; he also knew that this was it. He pulled away from the younger man, ignored the tears on Ellis' prematurely lined face, gazed into those horrified blue eyes. He gently pushed on the younger man's shoulders, and then did so harder. Away from him. In the opposite direction. Ellis stumbled back, blinked once, and then began to run. Nick watched him go for a second, the thudding of the infected echoing in his ears, a tear sliding down his grizzled cheek. He then put the man he loved to his back and sprinted off into the gloom of the alley.


End file.
